


Real

by wickedthoughts



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bisexual Dean, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Canonical Rape/Non-con, Hallucinations, Hurt Castiel, Kissing, Lucifer Possessing Castiel, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Past Anna Milton/Dean Winchester, Pining, Pining Castiel, Psychological Torture, Season/Series 11, Self-Hatred, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6048265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedthoughts/pseuds/wickedthoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer traps Castiel inside his own mind, showing him how unwanted and unloved he is. If he escapes, can Dean and Sam ever convince him otherwise?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Real

**Author's Note:**

> For an [spnkink-meme prompt.](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/106950.html?thread=40409286#t40409286)
> 
> I needed to write some Cas. I love him, poor guy.
> 
> Read the warnings as always. There's mentions of 9x03, if that's something you'd wish to avoid.

* * *

_This was a mistake,_ Castiel thinks the moment he tells Lucifer he can occupy his vessel. As soon as the _Yes_ rolls off the tongue that formerly belonged to Jimmy Novak, Castiel longs to take it back. He’s desperate, grasping, he didn’t think this through, why does he never think these things through until it’s too late?

 But it _is_ too late. The facsimile of Nick dissipates in a glowing white light that Castiel feels enter his borrowed human body, pushing him to the side, taking control. His powerful older brother, the Morningstar, the Lightbringer- so many other less flattering nicknames- is now in possession of Jimmy Novak’s body. The body the Winchesters associate with Castiel and Castiel alone. The body that can be used to manipulate them, hurt them, and, even if Lucifer _does_ beat the Darkness, at what cost will it be? What cost to the humans he loves most, beyond all reason?

_This was a mistake._

**_It probably was,_ ** the Devil concedes from inside his mind. **_Too late for you to do anything about it, you little fool. Don’t worry, I won’t make you watch when I torture the men you love to death. Consider it my thanks for giving me this body._ **

All perception is ripped from Castiel. Jimmy Novak’s eyes are now Lucifer’s, his ears, his nose, the pads of his fingers. That tongue that grew accustomed to lies and half-truths with Castiel, and will now graduate to an even higher level of deceptive artistry. All Lucifer’s. Castiel is alone in a darkness to rival the one he allowed this monster to use him to stop. This darkness stretches out interminably, and though Castiel had always expected to live forever, brief interludes of gracelessness aside, this eternity is already unbearable to him.

 _This was a mistake,_ he thinks again, and there is no one to respond. Only darkness.

*

“Cas? Cas? Is that you in there?” 

Castiel opens his eyes, blinking laboriously as sight returns to him. He is welcomed by the pleasant view of Dean’s face above him, his relieved smile full of hope and concern. He’s lying on his back, his shoulders in Dean’s lap. He’s never been here before. He likes it.

“Dean? What- what happened?”

“You said _yes_ to the fucking Devil, that’s what happened,” Dean’s anger is the anger of love. Bright blue sky haloes his head. “What the hell, man?”

“It was a mistake,” Castiel says, because there is someone to listen again. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well, I get why you did it. And I guess it worked. Lucifer stopped Amara, and then me and Sam stopped him, cast him back into the Cage, and you’re okay, so- ”

“Sam,” Castiel struggles to sit up, but Dean won’t let him. Castiel isn’t inclined to fight him. “Is Sam alright?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Sam’s friendly voice comes from somewhere over Dean’s head. “How’re you doing, Cas?”

“I’m- I’ve been better.”

Sam chuckles in commiseration before he responds.

“Well, it’s over now. We did it. We fixed our mess, all three of us.”

Castiel feels a lightness in his chest. Hope and happiness, and other emotions he’s unaccustomed to feeling so overwhelmingly. It’s too good to be true, it has to be-

“Yeah, so, we’ll be seeing you around, I guess.” 

He hears Sam’s footsteps recede after his lackluster farewell, crunching in the dry grass. Dean pushes Castiel off his lap and stands over him. That sinking feeling he knows so well doesn’t even sting as he lies in the dirt at Dean’s feet. It _was_ too good to be true. Of course it was. 

“We don’t really need you anymore, Cas,” Dean tells him, his tone maddeningly kind. “But, I mean, we’ll call you if we do. And maybe we can hang out sometime. Maybe.”

Sam calls out Dean’s name, honking the Impala’s horn. Dean leaves Castiel without another word or glance. Castiel stares up at the patch of cloudless blue sky, now unbroken by Dean’s beautiful face. He hears the rumble of the Impala’s engine, the crush of gravel under tires as the Winchesters abandon him. He shouldn’t feel this surprised, he tells himself, it shouldn’t hurt this bad. He should be used to this.

Darkness takes him again, and he realizes it wasn’t real. It was Lucifer, taunting him, toying with him. Not real. The men he loves, one as a friend and brother, one as a friend and- something else, haven’t rejected him completely.

 _Not yet,_ a voice whispers, and he doesn’t know if it belongs to himself or the Devil.

* 

Castiel opens his eyes and finds himself looking at the back of Dean’s broad shoulders. Castiel is sitting slumped, tied to a chair in the living room of a trashed apartment. The owner of the apartment, who he’d thought was a human woman named April Kelly but had turned out to be a Reaper whose name he’ll never know, lies dead from an unmistakable angel blade wound in the stomach. Castiel’s own stomach clenches at the sight of her. She’d lied to him, manipulated him, made him enjoy sex with her under false pretenses- the hateful human word for what she’s done to him, and possibly the real April as well, coils snakelike at the back of his mind. He’ll deal with all that later, though, because Dean is here. Sam, too, regaining consciousness where he lies against the far wall where the Reaper must have flung him.

“Dean.”

Dean turns to Castiel at the sound of his name. He rushes to Castiel’s side, kneeling to his eye-level. 

“Hey. Hey, yeah.”

Dean is so relieved. So endearingly relieved.

“And Sam,” Castiel tears his eyes from Dean’s and acknowledges the younger Winchester as he stands and makes his way over to them.

“Cas,” Sam sounds confused, but happy. “You’re okay.”

Castiel looks down at his ripped shirt and the blood on his chest from another unmistakeable angel blade wound. He frowns. He should be dead. That wound is too deep and there’s too much blood. He opens his mouth to question Dean, but Dean beats him to it.

“So, you’re good then?”

Castiel nods slowly

“ ‘Course you are. You’re alive, the bad guy’s dead, and we can go home now.”

 _Home._ Home means the Men of Letters’ Bunker, and Castiel has a pang of longing for a tangible place to call home. He’s been human, homeless, and on the run for such a short time, but it already feels longer than the billions of years he’d spent as an angel. With a home though, with friends, _family,_ this mortal life won’t be so bad-

“So. Later, Cas,” Dean says, standing. 

“Yeah, bye Cas,” Sam turns to leave.

It takes Castiel a moment to catch up. Because of course the _we_ in Dean’s statement had referred solely to Dean and Sam. Castiel has no friends, no family. No home. He panics, struggling against the ropes binding him to the chair.

“Dean? Sam?”

They don’t stop. Don’t even turn around. Sam is already through the door.

“Dean! Sam! I’m not- I’m still tied up!”

“Yeah, well,” Dean pauses in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out, buddy. Maybe you’ll manage not to fuck everything up this time. There’s a first time for everything, right?”

Then he’s gone, the door banging shut behind him, making Castiel flinch. He can barely process what just happened, so he stares at the cooling body of the woman the Reaper used to- to-

“Dean!”

 **_You’re so pathetic, Castiel. This almost isn’t any fun. Almost._**  

Darkness surrounds him, ending the altered memory that Lucifer had been using to torture him, enabling him to identify it as such. He’s relieved, but even as the panic recedes, the emotions dislodged by the memory continue to eat at his mind. It’s dark, and he’s alone. He’s all alone, and he’ll always be alone.

*

“It’s just us now, Cas.”

The angel wakes up in the post-apocalypse, cradled in Dean’s arms. Instead of mushroom clouds and desolate wastelands, Lucifer’s paradise is a lush green forest with all traces of humanity struck from existence. Birds are singing, the air is chill, and Castiel can smell rain on the horizon. He sits up next to Dean on the wet carpet of moss. 

“Sam- ” Dean’s voice breaks. “He- he’s gone. He sacrificed himself to kill Lucifer.”

“Dean,” grief for Sam chokes Castiel’s voice. “I- I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean swipes angrily at his eyes. “I- I know he’s waitin’ up in Heaven for me. He better keep that beer cold and those strippers happy ‘til I get there.”

Dean’s voice is forced. He clearly doesn’t believe the words he’s saying.

“Dean, I could- I can- ” Castiel grasps wildly. “I can go get him, sneak into Heaven, smuggle out his soul-”

“Cas, no.”

“Make a deal with a Reaper, and- ”

“Cas, stop!”

Dean’s sobbing now, anger and grief pouring from his eyes.

“Sam ain’t in heaven, Cas, I know that. He ain’t in Hell, either. He’s in the- the Reaper, she called it the _Empty,_ and she said- she said nothing comes back from the Empty.”

“I refuse to accept that.”

“Don’t you get it?” Dean screams, his head whipping around, all the better to accuse Castiel. “He’s gone! He’s gone, forever, and it’s your fucking fault for freeing Lucifer!”

Castiel recoils as Dean’s fists come for his chest and face. He’s still an angel, weak as he is, and they do little physical harm. The pain they inflict is on his anguished heart.

“I know, Dean.”

“Do you? Do you know? Lucifer destroyed Amara, sure. And then he destroyed Crowley and all the demons, great. Then the monsters. Then the rest of your dick brothers and sisters ‘cause they wouldn’t join him. And then- then he destroyed everyone else. All the people- gone, just fuckin’ gone, and Sam tried- he tried to stop it in time, but he didn’t, and now he’s gone, too, and- ”

Dean stops to take a shuddering gulp of air. Castiel uses the opportunity to interject.

“I know, and I’m sor- ”

Dean lands a blow on his mouth, stopping his apology. Dean shakes his hand. Both sets of knuckles are bruised and bleeding from striking the angel, and Castiel reaches out to heal him. Dean ducks from his touch, springing to his feet and leaping away from Castiel’s sitting form.

“Don’t! Don’t you fucking dare say you’re _sorry,_ and don’t you fucking touch me.” 

“Dean, please- ”

“No, shut your goddamn mouth. I never want to see you again. You’ve fucked everything up for me for the last time. Get out of my sight.”

“Dean- ”

“Get out of my sight, Cas!”

Castiel scrambles to his feet, muddy and damp. Dean’s eyes are wild.

“We are literally the last two people on Earth,” he spits. “And I’d rather be alone than spend another second with you.”

It would have hurt him less if Dean had stabbed him in the heart with his angel blade. 

 _All your fault,_ that mysterious yet familiar voice murmurs. _You’ll always be alone, and it’s all your fault._

The scene fades to black.

*

There are many scenarios the Devil uses to torment him, some based in reality, some complete fantasy. He forgets where he truly is, fully believing whatever Lucifer is currently showing him. Sam and Dean Winchester rescue Castiel, sometimes from monsters, sometimes from Lucifer, sometimes from himself. They build him up, his hopes and heart soaring, and he feels wanted, needed, _loved-_

Sam crushes him in a bear hug, warm and strong, and it’s ridiculous how safe that can make him feel when he’s an angel and Sam’s only a human, but, oh, there’s affection and connection and he clings to those intangible feelings as hard as he’s clinging to Sam’s solid shoulders-

Dean’s fingers brush his, their eyes meet, and Castiel sees something there, something he never dared hope he would see. Devotion and desire, and maybe Dean could love him in that special human way Castiel’s longed for since he even had a word for the feeling. Since he’d first met Dean, clutching his battered-but-bright soul inside his grace as he flew triumphant out of Hell-

It’s never real. It’s a trick, a tease, the Devil himself using his considerable resources to make Castiel’s existence a living Hell. Beelzebub, the Father of Lies, who Castiel has foolishly allowed access to his body and mind. The hug ends; his fingers clutch at empty air. Sam turns his back. Dean’s eyes harden, or worse, gloss over him like he’s nothing. He’s rejected, kicked out of the Bunker, left to fend for himself as he always has. His heart breaks. Lucifer laughs. Darkness consumes him, and he remembers where he is and always will be. He can never imagine a worse scenario than the one he’s just been through, but then the next one will begin and he’ll forget- 

**_Again._ **

Will Lucifer tell him when he kills the Winchesters? Castiel wonders in those brief moments of clarity between scenarios. He can’t decide which is worse, grief or dread. To know or not to know. Will Lucifer tell him when he defeats the Darkness and sets about destroying Castiel’s favorite parts of their Father’s creation? To know or not to know. Whichever option is the worst, Castiel has little doubt that Lucifer will choose it for him.

* 

“Cas, we gotta talk.”

Castiel looks up from the book of lore he’s been perusing in the Men of Letters’ library as Dean sits down at the table next to him. He’s so close, and he’s just showered, his short hair damp. The smell of soap and aftershave wafts intoxicatingly into Castiel’s nose.

“Yes, Dean?” 

“I, uh,” Dean scratches at the back of his head nervously. “God, this is awkward. I, um, I know, okay dude.”

Castiel stares at him, mind calmly assessing Dean’s statement. There’s so much Dean could be talking about, and he’s never been the best at expressing his feelings. Castiel decides to help him along.

“You know- ?”

“About your little crush.” 

“My- my what?”

Castiel knows what _crush_ means in this human context, and he knows exactly what Dean is referring to. He supposes it encapsulates some of what he feels for Dean, but the word is insultingly small. It encapsulates some, but not near enough to all.

“Your crush. On me. Don’t try and deny it, Cas.”

The angel feels like he’s being patronized, and that irks him.

“I’m not, but it- it’s not a _crush,_ Dean. It’s more than that. It’s- I love you.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Dean’s face reddens when Castiel uses that word. “Point is, I _know.”_

“Alright. You know.”

Dread and hope war in his mind as Dean leans closer to him, their faces almost touching. _Personal space,_ Castiel reminds himself, except, no that doesn’t apply because it’s _Dean_ initiating this proximity, and it’s foreign but, oh, so _right-_

“And,” Dean’s voice is a husky murmur. “I just wanted to tell you- to let you know that- ”

“That?”

Their lips nearly brush, and Castiel is ready for this, beyond ready. The man he loves, in all the ways the limited human word epitomizes, is willing to show him a measure of that love in return, in that sloppy, physical, human way that intrigues Castiel so much. He wants it, oh, he wants it.

 _Dean, yes, please, thank you-_  

“I wanted to let you know,” Dean pulls back abruptly and Castiel struggles not to topple forward out of his chair. “That you’re dumber than you look if you think I could ever feel the same.”

Dean laughs, and it feels like the room is closing in around Castiel. He’s suddenly very aware of how small and _wrong_ he is, ensconced in this frail human body. He wants to stretch out his wings and flee, never look back, never look Dean in those malicious green eyes again, but he _can’t_ because his wings are burnt husks, like all the angel’s wings are, and that’s his fault, too-

_Fool! Mistake! Alone! Your fault!_

And, even if he could flee, he won’t. He won’t, because he loves the man behind those green eyes so intensely he can’t stand it.

“Dean?”

The question is high and needy through his human vocal cords, all-but tearful, and it disgusts him. Once he was a powerful warrior, ancient and deadly, one of the Burning Ones. Light and purpose, a garrison of comrades, of _family,_ that he threw away for the love of this man and his brother. He’s been reduced to _this_ for the love of this man, and now he mocks him. All Castiel can do is plead for a reciprocal love he knows will never be given. 

_Pathetic._

“I mean, Cas, c’mon. I’m Dean Winchester,” Dean settles back easily in his chair, radiating confidence. Castiel hates how attractive he finds that. “I’m the fuckin’ _best._ I don’t gotta settle for anyone, I can have whoever I want.” 

“But- but I thought- ”

Castiel struggles for words. He’s never dared hope that Dean will love him in the way he wants him to, but he never thought Dean would acknowledge it. Or _enjoy_ the humiliation he’s inflicting on Castiel by rejecting him. 

“And don’t go thinking this is ‘cause you’re in that body,” Dean waves a hand vaguely in Castiel’s direction. “I’m no ‘phobe. I’m mostly into ladies, but I’ve been with dudes, too. This ain’t about that.”

“Then- then what? What’s wrong with me?” 

“Oh, Cas. What _isn’t_ wrong with you? You’re a- I mean, you’re an angel, yeah, but what’s an angel, really, except another type of monster? You’re a monster, Cas. We ain’t even the same species.”

“But you- you and Anna- ”

“Anna was human when we hooked up, she doesn’t count.”

“Dean, I- ” 

“And if- _if-_ I ever could be with an angel, you really think it’d be _you?_ You’re a piss-poor excuse for an angel. Always were. Useless. Broken. Nothing.”

Dean stands. Castiel gapes up at him in horrified shock. Dean laughs again, ugly and mean.

“Oh my god, the look on your face. Priceless. But I think it’s time for you to leave, Cas. Get the hell out of here. The Bunker ain’t your home, you don’t belong here.”

As if he needs to be told that. 

“Seriously, get out of here,” Dean repeats as he leaves the room without another glance at the angel. “I’ll never love you, and you don’t belong here.”

“I don’t belong here,” Castiel agrees out loud into the empty library as darkness creeps toward him from the corners of the bookshelves.

**_You don’t belong anywhere._ **

_I don’t belong anywhere._  

* 

Castiel opens his eyes to a sight with which he’s become increasingly familiar. He’s on his back in a grassy field, Sam and Dean on their knees at his sides, hovering in concern, blue sky above them.

“Cas?”

“Cas, you okay?”

It’s different this time, Castiel notes. He remembers. He remembers all the scenarios that came before this one. He wonders why it’s different. What new pain Lucifer has in store for him. There’s nothing he can do but find out.

“Yeah, I- I think so.”

“Good,” Dean says, relieved. “You fucking idiot.”

“Dean- ”

Sam says his brother’s name in warning, but Castiel can tell that Sam echoes Dean’s sentiment. He tries to figure out what will happen next. He’s pretty sure this is one of the scenarios where Sam rejects him first and Dean follows suit. They’ll make a show of interest, and then they’ll leave him here in the dust as they move on to their next adventure and the Devil laughs and laughs in the background of his mind-

“Oh, what, Sam? He _is_ a fucking idiot!”

The anger of love, Castiel thinks. The anger of love, and it’s not real. It will dissolve any minute now into indifference or mockery. 

“Dean- ”

Sam and Cas speak at the same time, then stop. Castiel looks up at the younger Winchester, taking in the details he failed to notice at first. The darkening bruise around Sam’s right eye, the blood drying on his chin from the split in his lip. Castiel automatically reaches up to heal him, but Sam flinches from his touch.

This is where it begins, Castiel knows. The rejection. He braces himself against the pain of it, but he knows that will come, too. It always hurts. Always.

“Sorry, Cas,” Sam grins sheepishly, and to Castiel’s surprise, leans his head forward into the angel’s outstretched hand. “I- I know Lucifer’s gone, it’s just, you know, involuntary reaction- ”

It takes Castiel a moment to realize that Sam is accepting his healing. Grace flows through human fingers into Sam’s cheek, mending flesh and cleaning blood. Sam smiles gratefully.

“Thanks.”

Castiel looks to Dean’s face. It’s less torn up than Sam’s was, but there’s blood on his cheek and he’s holding his right arm at a strange angle. Castiel struggles up to a seated position, moving his hand to heal Dean as well, but Dean ducks out of the way with a grunt of pain. There’s nothing involuntary about the movement.

“I’m fine, Cas.”

“Dean, seriously? Your arm is fucking broken, let him heal you.”

“I said I’m fine,” Dean growls at Sam.

So it’s Dean who rejects him first here. Castiel readjusts his expectations. Dean’s rejections are always more personal than Sam’s. Sam will dismiss him with apathy, Dean with spite. Castiel steels himself.

“Dean, c’mon, just let him- ”

“Drop it, Sam! He- he- ” Dean looks from Sam back to Castiel. “You said _yes_ to Lucifer you- you fucking idiot!”

It’s still the anger of love, not spite. Not yet. Not yet, but Castiel knows it will be soon enough. He just wants Dean to move it along. The anticipation is unbearable.

“Yes,” he agrees flatly. “You’re right, Dean. It was a mistake, and I’m a- a fucking idiot. I’m- I’m broken, and I’m useless, and you don’t need me, don’t want me, and I don’t belong with you. There, now you know I already know, and you don’t have to say it.”

Sam and Dean stare at him, aghast. This has never happened before, in anything Lucifer has inflicted upon him. He’s morbidly curious to see where the Devil takes it next.

“You two don’t have to stick around anymore, either. Just leave me.”

He’ll reject _them_ first.

“You’re right, Dean. I _am_ an idiot. I keep crawling after you, both of you, and it’s clear you want nothing to do with me. I gave up my home, my family, _everything_ for you, and it wasn’t enough to win your approval. That sounds pretty idiotic to me, too.”

It’s all true. Every word. He’s an idiot, a pathetic, needy idiot, and they’ll never love him like he loves them. 

“Oh god, Cas- ” Sam begins, horrified realization dawning.

“Stop! I told you, you don’t have to pretend to care anymore. I’m done grasping for your affection. Go away.”

He’s just waiting for this scene to end now. Why won’t it end?

“No.”

It’s Dean who speaks, quiet and firm.

“No?”

“No, Cas. I- _we-_ ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Damn straight,” Sam says adamantly.

So Lucifer wants to pretend a little longer. Soften him with sweet words from the tongues of his favorite humans. Promises they will never really make. Castiel’s finally figured out why Lucifer let him remember that this isn’t real. The Winchesters will say all the things he’s longed for them to say for so many years, and Castiel will know the whole time that it isn’t real, _they’re_ not real. The perfect torment. Lucifer can drag this out far longer than his usual scenarios, slowly twisting the metaphorical knife in Castiel’s heart. The thought makes Castiel want to scream. An earth-shaking, glass-shattering shriek in his true voice. 

“You can stop this now, Lucifer,” he says instead. “I know it isn’t real.”

He sees Sam cringe and look warily from Castiel to Dean.

“Lucifer’s gone, Cas,” Dean says softly. His eyes never leave Castiel’s. “He and Amara destroyed each other. Both me and Sam saw it happen, not ten minutes ago.” 

Sam nods wildly in agreement, looking back at Castiel with wide, sincere eyes. Lucifer really has constructed Sam’s facsimile well, Castiel notes. It’s to be expected, he supposes, what with Sam being his true vessel and all. He might believe this was Sam Winchester if he didn’t know better. Dean, on the other hand, is being far too quiet. Far too tender. Only called him one lackluster insult. Lucifer’s going to have to try harder with Dean. 

“Of course,” Castiel says acerbically. “I believe you, Dean. Lucifer’s gone. Now, you and Sam can leave me here and go home like you always do.”

“Guess Lucifer was telling the truth,” Sam says to Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean’s agreement is oddly contemplative. “Guess so.”

“I’m afraid I’ve lost the, uh, flow of the conversation here, brother. What are they talking about?” 

Castiel throws back his head and speaks loudly to the heavens. He’s speaking to Lucifer. He’s decided he’ll only speak to Lucifer from now on, not the painful likenesses of his friends. Maybe then it will hurt less.

Lucifer doesn’t answer. Not that Castiel expects him to. Lucifer only talks to him at the end of the scenarios.

“Dean,” he hears Sam say urgently. “This is like when- when I had the hallucinations after I got my memories from the Cage back.”

That was his fault, Castiel remembers. His fault, and they’re right not to love him. They should leave now.

“Okay, so what can we do to snap him out of this?” 

Castiel lets the words wash over him as he stares at the cloudless sky. He hears them, but allows nothing to stick. He’s going to experiment with reactions until Lucifer gets bored and moves on to a different scene.

“I- I had that cut on my hand, the pain let me know what wasn’t real. But I don’t think that’s gonna work here. I think that’ll make it worse.”

“Okay, did anything else help you?”

“Well- ” 

_“What?”_

“You.”

Sam’s voice is fraught with undisguised meaning. Castiel can hear it, despite his best efforts not to listen. 

“Right. Okay.”

Castiel detects the tremor in Dean’s voice. As if he’s gathering his courage for something momentous. Castiel feels a gentle hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t look away from the sky. 

“Cas, buddy?”

Just like that, Castiel abandons the endeavor of disregardance. He looks. He can’t help it. It sounds too much like Dean for him not to respond. Dean’s face is inches from him, green eyes wide and earnest. He’s so beautiful, Castiel thinks. Such a beautiful human.

“Cas,” Dean’s mouth quirks into a smile, but the angel can tell that he’s afraid. “Hey, uh- ”

His words trail off in a loud gust of exhaled air. Castiel can’t figure out what Lucifer’s game is, and it agitates him. Why should Dean be afraid? And how will that fear be used to hurt him?

“It’s not real,” he whispers insistently, deep and low. To himself, not to Lucifer or these automatons the Devil has created in Castiel’s mind. “It’s not real.” 

He remembers the pile of Dean automatons slaughtered by his own hand in that Heavenly warehouse, Naomi whispering encouragements in his ear while he died inside. Somehow that was less painful than what’s happening here.

“It _is_ real, Cas,” Dean tells him softly. He slowly, gently, brings his undamaged left arm from Castiel’s shoulder to his face, cupping his cheek in his calloused hand. “I’m real. Sam’s real. You’re here, and Lucifer’s gone.” 

“No.” 

Castiel shakes his head stubbornly in Dean’s grip. If he lets himself believe this, what he most desperately wants to believe, then it will be utterly devastating when the truth is revealed. He won’t do it. He won’t let the Devil win.

“Yeah, Cas. It’s over. Lucifer told us- he said he’d trapped you in your own mind because, uh, no one could torture you better than you. Said you felt unwanted. Un- unloved. By us. Is that true?”

“You know it’s true. You know everything I know, because _this isn’t real.”_

“And I know that- that’s on us,” Dean plows on. “Mostly on me. But, c’mon, Cas. You- you gotta know we need you, right?” 

“Yeah. Like you need a broom. Or a screwdriver.”

“Oh, Cas,” Sam says sadly. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” 

“I’m- _we’re_ sorry we made you feel that way,” Dean continues. “But we need you because- because you’re _Cas_ okay? You’re family. We need _you.”_

He hears Sam’s quiet agreement over the roar rising in his ears. This facsimile is sounding more and more like the real Dean, fumbling over his words, and Castiel can’t let himself believe. If he does, Lucifer wins.

_Not real, not real, not real._

“Lucifer said some other stuff, too,” Dean is saying, and Castiel sees blood rushing to his stubbled cheeks. Dean is clearly uncomfortable, but he releases Castiel from neither his gaze nor his touch. “Stuff about how you l- about how you, uh, feel about me. Is- is that true, too?”

“You know it is.”

Castiel isn’t talking to Lucifer this time. This isn’t real, but he can’t help himself.

“Yeah, I- I’m pretty sure I knew that. Known for a while. And I can’t- I can’t promise you much, but- but, Cas- ”

Dean leans forward, his mouth pressing gently against Castiel’s. The angel hears Sam’s small gasp of surprise, and he freezes, clenching his lips, remembering the scenario in the Bunker library, waiting for Dean to pull away and laugh at him. This time will be worse, because Sam is here, and Sam will laugh at him, too, and he doesn’t think he can bear it-

Dean pulls away, removing his hand from Castiel’s face when he does, and Castiel’s heart lurches.

“Fuck, Cas, I’m sorry- I thought- but I should have asked- ”

Castiel moves his head forward, chasing after Dean’s lips with his own. If he’s going to be humiliated and heartbroken over this, he’s going to make it worth his while. In all the scenarios Lucifer has put him through thus far, Dean has never actually kissed him. Castiel has never initiated a kiss with Dean, either. 

Dean lets out a muffled noise of surprise when Castiel kisses him, but his mouth opens in response. Castiel’s tongue dives inside, and Dean’s meets it. The angel’s hands find their way to the back of Dean’s head, pulling their vessels- their _bodies-_ as close as physically possible. Dean’s left hand mimics Castiel’s motion, fingers clenching in his dark hair, but it’s not nearly enough. Castiel lets grace flow from his lips and hands into Dean, healing his broken arm, and Dean growls into Castiel’s mouth as he brings his right hand to join the left behind Castiel’s head. It’s a glorious tangle of lips and teeth and arms as angel and human press themselves together ferociously. Blood rushes down through Castiel’s body, pooling in his groin, and it’s _good._ Doing this with Dean is so much better than he’d ever imagined.

Too bad it isn’t real.

“Um, guys?”

They break apart reluctantly, chests heaving, to find Sam gaping at them. He looks back and forth between the two of them, comically wide-eyed, his mouth open in astonishment.

“Right. Sam. So, um, yeah.” 

Dean’s voice is shrill with consternation, his usually affected gruffness temporarily missing. Castiel looks at him. Dean’s face is burning red, and he self-consciously scratches at the back of his neck.

“No, uh,” Sam’s face breaks out into a slow, small smile when the angel looks back to him. “No, it’s- are we- are we good here?”

“I don’t know. Cas?”

“What?”

“We good?”

 _Not real,_ Castiel’s mind screams. Not real, but he wants so badly to believe. Usually the scene has changed by now, why is this one taking so long? Could it be- could it be real?

“I don’t know,” Castiel chooses blatant honesty. “I’m- I’m still not entirely convinced that this is real.”

“He’s good at that,” Sam commiserates. “Lucifer, I mean. It’ll get better, Cas, I promise.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, looking appreciatively at Sam as the glow recedes in his cheeks. “And we’ll help you with that, okay Cas?”

_Not real-_

His inner voice is weaker.

_Weak like you._

He tunes the self-deprecating monologue out.

“Okay,” Castiel says tentatively.

Dean stands, reaching a hand down to help Castiel to his feet.

“Let’s go home, Cas.”

_Home._

However much it may hurt him in the future, Castiel dares to hope as he follows the Winchesters- his _family-_ through the field to the Impala.

*

The drive to the Bunker takes nearly nine hours. Most of it is spent in awkward silence, various musical selections from classic rock stations drifting through the Impala’s cab, punctuated by flimsy jokes meant to break the tension.

“So, Dean,” Sam teases lightly from the front passenger’s seat around hour two. “I guess Cas’ll have to take _your_ last name, since he doesn’t have one.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“And I was gonna suggest that we finally give Cas his own room, but then I realized that you two can just share- ” 

“Shut the fuck up, Sam,” Dean growls.

“All right, all right. Jeez.”

Sam glances over his shoulder, smiling kindly at Castiel in the back seat. Castiel smiles back. There’s that lightness in his chest. The lightness that means everything’s about to dissolve into pain and darkness. It doesn’t, though. Sam looks forward again, and Castiel goes back to staring out his window at the passing scenery. He misses his wings. They’re driving fast by human standards, at least twenty over the speed limit, but by Castiel’s standards they might as well be standing still.

An angel, even such a poor excuse for an angel as himself, should be more patient than this, he admonishes himself. He should be, but when each interminable second is most likely bringing him closer to the rejection and abandonment he’s grown accustomed to- well, who could begrudge his irritability?

At some point he closes his eyes to shut out the slow-moving scenery. He puts his forehead against the window, enjoying the cool press of the glass on his skin. He wonders if he could feel that, if this is all inside his head. Then he remembers other sensations from other hallucinations, and the barely-contained despair returns. The radio moves from song to song, station to station, as they pass through new counties and Dean spins the dial from static, pop, or evangelists to find the local rock station. 

 _“Colored lights can hypnotize,”_ the radio croons as Dean expresses his approval and Sam makes a disparaging noise in response. _“Sparkle someone else’s eyes.”_

“Dean- ” 

Sam begins quietly, the gravity of what he wants to talk about apparent in his voice.

“Sam,” Dean counters warningly, just as quiet. “What?”

Castiel supposes he can forgive them for forgetting that he’s not actually asleep- because how many times does he have to remind them that angels don’t sleep?- or for not remembering that no matter how softly they speak, he can hear them plainly. His mind scrambles to determine whether this oversight makes it more or less likely that this isn’t real.

“Dean, you need to be careful.”

“What- what the hell’s that supposed to mean?” 

“With Cas. With you and Cas, you know, _together.”_

“Okay, look, I know. I know, okay? He’s- he ain’t even human, and he’s a- a guy, technically, and I haven’t with a guy- not since high school, anyway- ”

“No, god, Dean, that’s not what I meant. That stuff, that doesn’t- I mean it _matters_ on some level, but not really, not to me. If you’re happy, both of you, then I’m happy.”

Sam stops, takes a deep breath to refocus.

_“Bye-bye,”_ the song drones.  _“Bye-bye.”_

“What I meant was, you need to be careful. This is Cas we’re talking about.”

“And?”

“And- and, look, I’ve watched you fuck up some good relationships with some good people, and I just- ”

“Oh right, like you ain’t done the same?”

“Yes,” Sam concedes readily. “I have. But we’re not talking about me right now. We’re talking about you. And Cas. Together.”

“You said that already.”

“Maybe it bears repeating.”

 _“You_ bear repeating,” Dean grumbles petulantly. It’s quite childish, it really shouldn’t amuse Castiel as much as it does.

“Dean, c’mon. It’s- it’s like you said to him. It’s _Cas._ It’s Cas, and he’s family.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So. Don’t fuck this up.”

There’s a long silence after that. The song has changed. Thanks to Metatron, Castiel recognizes that it’s Paul Rodgers letting everyone know that he feels like making love. His mind races, processing the conversation he’s heard. Sam’s worried about him and Dean, and not because he doesn’t want them together, but because he’s afraid that it will destroy their family dynamic. Family. Sam considers him family as much as Dean does. The lightness in his chest expands, he can almost taste the joy swelling in his heart.

_Not real._

But his thoughts do little to diminish his newfound happiness. Which will just make it hurt more, later.

_Fool._

“You think I don’t know all that, Sam? God, I know. I break everything I touch. Pretty sure I broke him already. But Cas, he always comes back, no matter how bad I fuck it all up. And I fuck it up _bad.”_

“We both do.”

“Yeah, and so does he sometimes. We all deserve each other.”

“Yeah,” Sam laughs ruefully.

“It’s our fault, you know, that he turned to Lucifer. That Lucifer could torture him the way he did. Mostly mine, but, yeah. Our fault.”

“I know,” Sam sighs. “We gotta work on that.”

He should let them know that he can hear them, but something stops Castiel’s tongue. To his surprise, he prays instead. A small, involuntary prayer to a Father he knows isn’t listening and doesn’t care.

_Please. If you ever cared about me at all. Please let this be real._

“I’m not gonna fuck this up,” Dean asserts, suddenly and fiercely. “Not this time.”

Castiel smiles against the glass of the Impala’s window. He won’t, either, he promises silently. He won’t.

_Please let this be real._


End file.
